


Reflections and Regrets

by firewolfsg



Series: Mind Games [2]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Apologies, F/M, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewolfsg/pseuds/firewolfsg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crawford foresaw Schuldich's actions, yet he did nothing about it. Now, well after the fact, he sees how great a mistake that was.</p><p>Finished back in June 2000</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

/I wonder what he feels about my scrutiny?/ The thought runs fleetingly through Crawford's mind again as he discretely looked over his newspaper to where the Mobile Koneko no Sumu Ie is parked. /I know he noticed me hours ago./

Despite knowledge of his presence in the café across the street, still the Weiß redhead did not appear to be unduly worried or nervous to be alone and without the company of the rest of his unit. Any outsider would easily take him for an unassuming florist plying his trade on the busy thoroughfare in Kyoto.

Crawford snorted to himself at the thought. /*If* it is considered normal for a florist to be surrounded by starry-eyed schoolgirls vying for his attention./

Crawford had to admit that he was greatly amused by Weiß's other vocation. When Schuldich first told him of the daytime activities of Weiß, he had been properly sceptical. Yet in his afternoon scrutiny of the man, Crawford observed that he appeared to know his trade rather well. /Correction-- it should be little wonder, considering the bit of history that Nagi managed to dig up on Ran Fujimiya's early training in Sendai. That he had been attached to a-- Flower Arrangement Centre./

A cough of laughter escaped the American's throat again. The pure incongruity of the idea that an assassin could masquerade as a florist-- it made him shake his head. He couldn't deny that it was effective. Certainly none of the customers would ever think that the man who made them those beautiful flower arrangements was a cold-hearted murderer. In spite of the smear job Takatori tried to do on Weiß, the public did not believe that the well liked *florists* could have been the feared assassin group. Certainly, once Takatori was killed and order restored to Tokyo, Weiß had easily reopened their shop with apologies and compensation provided by the government for the 'regretful' harassment visited upon them. This bit of news had amused Schwartz to no end when they found out about it.

Given that example, it made Crawford wonder whether he should have Schwartz take up a 'harmless' daytime profession too; If only to ward away the boredom that frequently descended on them between jobs. He couldn't think of what would fit his unit though. Run a bookstore? A pet shop maybe-- Nagi would be amused, as would the surviving Schreient girl, Toto. The two kids certainly didn't have very much of a normal childhood. It might even be a welcomed escape to let them play with and care for the pets in the store. Though what could they do about Farfarello, or even Schuldich...

/Schuldich./ The name brought Crawford's eyes off the newspapers to look at the Weiß redhead again. To his trained eye, it was obvious that the man was in a great deal of pain. So much so that he couldn't entirely mask his distress from the bubbly schoolgirls that surrounded him. Furthermore, Crawford was aware of a faint tremor of tension, which appeared from time to time. /How could they have left him alone? But... then again, how could they not?/

After the events of the previous night, Crawford could sympathise with Kudou's confusion and guilt, but his running away was certainly ill-timed. The strategist in him cursed Schuldich for 'wasting' this unique opportunity of control for a night for 'fun'. No advantage could be taken of it now, Weiß was sure to take steps to ensure that none of their members would ever lose control like that again. So after a 'fun-filled' evening, what was gained? They knew Fujimiya to be too practical a man to let the events tear the team apart. With proper counselling and support, he would himself, recover from the trauma with time.

Time... Crawford looked up from the newspapers to regard the Japanese man again. For a 'morning after'-- Fujimiya was holding up remarkably well. True, Crawford could see the lines of strain, and some of the more observant customers, for that matter, could tell that he wasn't exactly well. But few if any would ever guess why.

The Schwartz leader frowned at the memory of seeing Fujimiya sending his team-mates off to look for their missing member. He didn't have to be a mind reader to guess that the two younger men were extremely reluctant to leave their friend unaccompanied, but there seemed little choice. Certainly, their missing compatriot was a cause of concern for them, given that Schuldich must have managed to take complete control of him just hours earlier. It *would* be disastrous if the German seized control a second time and sent him back after them. It was far safer to locate him as quickly as possible, and that required at least two of them taking part in the search. They could not risk sending out just one and having him attacked-- just as the redhead had been attacked. How ever vulnerable Fujimiya felt after last night, he *would not* risk a repeat of the offence happening to his comrades.

His team-mates didn't like it. That was plainly obvious, even from his distant point of vantage. Nevertheless, Crawford could understand why they didn't want to challenge his orders. If the man had been injured 'normally', they would have taken his orders without worry, trusting that the precaution of leaving him in a busy public area was sufficient to safeguard him from attack or molestation. How ever concerned or protective they felt about Fujimiya now, after the violation of the previous night, they knew it would be the greatest blow to his confidence if they treated him any differently. And the last thing they wanted to do was to undermine his faith in his own ability. At least Fujimiya did not appear to resent their precaution in swinging back to touch base with him a couple of times through the afternoon. But Crawford had to wonder again how the man felt about his presence just across the street.

From his observation, the afternoon alone had not passed easily for Ran Fujimiya. Most of his customers were not aware of his discomfort, but it was clear to Crawford that the man would become jittery when the press of the crowd got too thick. A couple of times, he noticed that the man would nonchalantly move into a position such that he could lean his back against one of the display stands, as if taking assurance of something solid behind him. Once he had even retreated into the trailer for a few minutes, leaving the store unattended and the schoolgirls waiting and wondering what the emergency was about. So the man *was* unsettled. Yet he hadn't appeared to have bothered to inform his team-mates of his scrutiny. Why? Was he just being reckless? Was he silently rebelling against his team-mates' barely concealed protectiveness and worry for his well being? Was Fujimiya that confident he wouldn't take any action with so many witnesses?

/Or does he just know you well enough?/

> Crawford couldn't suppress the flash of the image which had come to him the previous evening before Schuldich had left them. He had known what Schuldich was up to. He'd had a clairvoyant vision of what was about to take place and he had stepped out of his room in the next instance to see the German man standing at the door ready to leave. Yet, he didn't say anything. Schuldich's challenging smirk even made him wonder why he was showing concern for an enemy.
> 
> But when the German returned the next morning-- appearing at breakfast smelling of blood and sex. Holding a familiar earring between his lips like a cigarette... Crawford would swear that he felt nothing for the members of Weiß. Yet-- he still felt the heavy weight of-- guilt.
> 
> Nagi was the first to break the silence. His voice low and subdued at the careless nonchalance the German exuded as he sauntered towards the breakfast table, unmindful of his rumpled appearance or of the stink surrounding him. "You're-- not gay, Schuldich. Why did you...?"
> 
> "Why not?" The German sucked on the earring as he twirled it between his fingers. "Maybe because he's always managed to evade me in his dreams. Maybe because I was never able to leave a lasting impression on him before. Maybe I'm just addicted to him. Maybe just because.
> 
> "The opportunity was there, why not take it. He was so tight and perfect..." Schuldich's green eyes had turned dreamy at the memory of his early morning activities. "Such a sweet little kitten." The German wrapped his arms around Crawford from behind and purred into his ear. "Could I bring him home with me next time, daddy?"
> 
> "To what end?" He had kept his eyes on his newspaper, refusing to look up or squirm in the man's embrace. "Kritiker reveals very little to their field agents. It would be a waste of time and energy--"
> 
> "Bradley! You can't be *that* unimaginative? A waste of time?" Schuldich had laughed in his ear, given him a quick peck on the cheek and stolen his toast before retreating to his room to sleep for the rest of the morning.
> 
> He had felt Nagi's eyes on him after Schuldich's departure. He did not need to look at the boy to know that he was disturbed. Was it just worry? For his own, or maybe for Toto's safety?
> 
> "We do not hurt our own, Nagi." He had offered the statement to the boy, hoping that it would ease his new-born discomfort with their German compatriot for the activities of the previous evening. He had not expected the unsaid accusation in Nagi's reply.
> 
> "I-- don't think anyone-- is deserving of rape, Crawford. Not even our enemies."
> 
> Crawford looked up then, but the boy was already gone. His breakfast left half eaten on the table. Should he have been surprised that the boy would be troubled? It wasn't more than two years ago when he had searched for and picked up the little street urchin. How it had come about, Crawford couldn't tell. But when he first laid eyes on the filthy little ragamuffin, he felt responsible for the boy. He often worried, but he didn't dare press Nagi to talk about the 'hurt' inflicted on him before they met. The boy would never talk about his months, or was it years, of living on the streets. In his time with them though, Nagi did come far from those days of silence and fear.
> 
> Truthfully, Crawford was happy to see Nagi's interest in the Schreient girl, Toto. It was only with her that Nagi took the initiative to start a relationship, and even to venture out on his own beyond the walls of their safe house. However, Crawford had not liked it at all when he received his visions of Nagi's apparent death with the girl. The boy had tried to listen to him that once. Had painfully distanced himself from the girl when her team first clashed with Weiß. But when given a second chance, after the girl had survived the first death trap, Nagi had turned defiant. Crawford had gone so far as to raise his hand on the boy. Then threatened to punish him if he insisted on trying to protect Toto from the sentence of death passed down by the SS. But Nagi proved willing to lay down his life for his love and ignored his warnings.
> 
> When Crawford returned to the demolish mansion later, thinking to retrieve Nagi's lifeless remains, he couldn't say what shocked him more. That the two children had survived, or that Nagi forgave Crawford for his attempt to change the future and protect him from possible death.
> 
> Young love... Despite the fulfilment of his visions, seeing how they had actually survived, Crawford had done everything in his power to make sure he'd gain legal custody of Toto so that they'd never be separated again. As long as Nagi had Toto, Crawford had hope that the boy would heal and eventually deal with his past trauma instead of suppressing it. And slow as it was, he thought Nagi was beginning to finally open up. Until Schuldich decided to play his games...
> 
> In the silence that he had been left in, Crawford could not help but dwell on Schuldich's actions. He *had* known-- had seen what Schuldich was going to do. Yet he did nothing. Nagi-- it was clear that the boy considered him a party to the rape because of his inaction. And now, every bit of trust he had built between himself and the boy lay in the dust. Was that fair?
> 
> It was times like that that Crawford wondered why he put up with Schuldich's idiosyncrasies. For all of Farfarello's mental instability, there were days when he felt that Schuldich was far more unstable. Crawford could even pinpoint the moment he had first noticed Schuldich's unnatural obsession with Ran Fujimiya. When the German realised the boy had noticed him and later escaped unharmed from the explosion that killed his parents and put his sister in a coma. At sometime during the brief encounters and clashes that followed, Schuldich had taken to habitually trying to get under the other man's skin. Fujimiya had managed to stay out of his clutches. But clearly, this time Schuldich won.

A high pitched squeal of a schoolgirl brought Crawford out of his thoughts to look back at where the Weiß redhead still ran the flower shop. He wondered again how the Weiß members could stand to be surrounded by starry-eyed schoolgirls every day. They were 'jail bait,' as the expression went in some parts of America. And really, some of them had voices that could bend metal. Then again, there were also the few unusually helpful specimens. Fujimiya was certainly fortunate that a couple of the more observant girls were aware of his masked distress. He did not make much of an issue to have them be his feet in retrieving flowers and supplies for him. Indeed, with their assistance, he had managed not to move very much for the last few hours. The man was a study in the economy of movement as he stayed at the workbench, while the helpful girls supplied him with all the materials he needed to create his beautiful bouquets and arrangements. Had he not been in pain, Crawford was sure that Fujimiya would not deign to let them fuss over him so flagrantly.

The thought made Crawford frown as his earlier question resurfaced in his mind. Above all else, he knew Fujimiya to be practical, and he was aware of his physical limitations, enough to bury his pride to accept the assistance the girls offered. So why hadn't the redhead reacted or even told Weiß when he first noticed him across the street?

/Because he knows you are not Schuldich, who might do something out of amusement. You have nothing to gain by attacking him in the open. It would be a wasted effort. Just as your current preoccupation with watching the Weiß redhead is a waste of time./

Crawford shook his newspaper in irritation, pretending to turn the page. Sometimes he hated that little voice in his head that would pop up and give him the simple answers he'd be agonising over for hours at a time. But the voice was right, it was a waste of time. So why was he here now, silently watching Ran Fujimiya with no intention of posing a threat to him?

/Just a show, to distance yourself from Schuldich's actions./

His hands crushed the edge of the papers. Crawford had to ask himself if it was possible to deny responsibility anymore? He *had* known what Schuldich intended to do, and he did not interfere. To Nagi's eyes, he had a hand in the brutal rape too. Nagi... So was that it? He felt bad about the disappointment the boy had felt in him. Nagi had practically accused him of condoning the rape of the Weiß redhead with his inaction. He *could* have done something about it. He received the forewarning. But he let it happen-- and it was far too late to do anything about it now.

Crawford finished crushing the newspapers in his hands. He wondered why he even bothered to keep up the charade, since he knew that he had been spotted hours ago. He couldn't deny it anymore. He felt bad about what happened. He *never* regretted his jobs before. Not for killing his targets. Not for the hurt caused to others as a consequence of completing his assignments. He certainly felt no regret for his hand in the deaths of Fujimiya's parents, nor his involvement in the SS debacle which threatened the lives of Aya Fujimiya and Sakura Tomoe.

/But... rape was different./

> "I-- don't think anyone-- is deserving of rape, Crawford. Not even our enemies." 

Nagi's words haunted him again as he looked up to see Ran Fujimiya speaking with a dark-haired woman.

At that moment, a flash of a precognitive vision sped through his mind. Crawford cursed as he reached for his cellular phone. /Damn it, Schuldich! Don't you know when to leave things well enough alone?/

His hand hesitated over the keypad. Crawford realised that he could choose not to do anything again. Perhaps let Schuldich receive his just deserts at the hands of the furious Weiß. He fleetingly wondered how long they would take to kill him. Siberian, especially, didn't exactly look very forgiving. Crawford could recall that Hidaka had struggled to keep his emotions controlled in Fujimiya's presence. But once the younger man had turned away to leave, his expression had darkened like death's spectre.

The man was clearly on a short fuse, both from anger at what was done to his friend and from worry over leaving the said friend relatively 'unprotected' while they searched for their missing compatriot. The ex-professional soccer player looked to be the most unpredictable of Weiß right now, and possibly the most dangerous. It had not missed Crawford's notice that Hidaka now had bagnuks attached to *both* his gloves. From the vision, Crawford knew that Schuldich was going to be confronted by the three Weiß members, and he started to wonder if Schuldich, with his much vaunted speed, would be able to survive an all out attack by an enraged Siberian.

Crawford let his breath out in a sigh. As entertaining as the idea was, he couldn't let Weiß relieve Schwartz of the German. As hateful as he thought the man could be, Schuldich was still useful. He hit the speed dial and waited for the party at the other end to answer. His inaction was a mistake and he could no longer deny it. He knew he had failed Nagi's expectations once, but he promised himself that he would not fail again. As long as he could interfere, he would not stand by and let Schuldich abuse anyone again. For now, he hoped Nagi could forgive him for what he was about to ask him to do.

A familiar voice soon came on line. "Nagi? Do you know where we keep the grenades? ... Good, go get one, there's someone I need you to bail out. ... Yes, it's Schuldich. ... Yes, we have to. ... No, I can't do it. He's at the other end of the city, I'll never get there in time. ... Just get the grenade, you have half an hour to think about it and another half hour to get there. ... Yes, you will, Nagi. ... They usually are, Nagi. ..."


	2. Chapter 2

"Sayanora, Aya-san. We'll be sure to be here early tomorrow to scold the others for deserting you when you're not feeling well."

"Rest well, Aya-san." The girls giggled as they departed clutching the small bouquets of Camellias Aya had made for them for the help they rendered to him through the afternoon.

He was happy to give them the sweet arrangements, for sparing him from the world of hurt he would have been in that afternoon if he had been forced to be more mobile. He dreaded to think of what he'd have to endure after Birman returned from her 'foraging' mission. He truthfully wasn't overly concerned about the review she was proposing to give him. Aya would admit that he was occasionally sloppy when he was under stress, but he had kept up adequate practise so that his mental shields were tight enough to repel someone of Schuldich's strength. However, he couldn't deny that he was rather vulnerable now, especially with an almost constant reminder throbbing behind him. It only made him think of the agony he'd have the endue when he got behind the wheel to drive back to their warehouse base camp.

A twinge of pain gripped him, again making Aya regret not letting Ken and Omi bring him to a doctor. That morning, they were so depressingly awkward about wanting him to get a medical examination, but not willing to pressure him into agreeing to it. He should have listened to them, but he just couldn't-- He didn't know if he could handle facing an intimate examination, much less the questions that were sure to be asked.

Once he woke up that morning, he had taken a shower and stayed under the cold spray for a long time, building his nerve to make a cursory examination. By whatever mercy that was granted to him during that nightmarish assault, he didn't think they tore him open. At least-- he didn't feel that there was an open wound that needed stitches. But it still hurt and according to Ken, he had bled quite a bit. So... he probably had an internal tear. And what other consequences were there? Infection? How about STDs? Youji-- he trusted Youji to use condoms and practise safe sex. But how careful *was* Schuldich with his sex life?

A couple of times during the day, he had changed his mind and given in to the sound reasoning that he *had* to see a doctor about the assault. But each time when Ken and Omi returned to report their activities, he had lost his resolve. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, Aya hastily reminded himself. He had accepted their comfort, let them clean him up and put him back in bed. Aya loved them as his friends and family, but he didn't think he could handle having either of them with him at the doctor's clinic.

How was he to handle this then? He didn't know if he had the courage to see the doctor on his own. If he wanted someone there for moral support, who then? Birman? Manx? He'd trust their discretion, but would they believe him? Aya swallowed hard and he could feel his face burning in shame at the thought of their scrutiny. Who would believe that he had been raped, other than those involved? Not him. He couldn't believe it himself, even when it was happening to him.

Reminded of one other who he'd guess would know of the events, Aya threw a quick glance towards the café that was across the street. The American was still there. No longer making any pretence of reading the newspapers, but he wasn't looking at him either. Instead, he appeared to be staring at his cellular phone as if it would bite him. Aya frowned to himself wondering when the man would finally make his move and reveal why he had spent almost the entire afternoon watching him.

His hand reached up again to unconsciously grip his left earlobe, the feel of the emptiness there sending yet another chill through his heart. He jerked his hand away guiltily. He had managed not to think about it for most of the day, surrounded as he was by chattering admirers and customers. Part of him wished that Birman would hurry back quickly before he could be sucked back into his thoughts with the quiet that now surrounded him.

Aya tried to tell himself that he had to let it go. That the earring did not mean anything to him now, since his revenge was complete, and his sister awake from her coma. But it felt so strange not to feel the comfortable weight that he wondered if he could ever get used to not having it anymore. It meant nothing-- it was really more an irritant to remind him of his vow to avenge his parent's deaths. Initially, it had caused him only pain for the unaccustomed weight. In fact, the resolve to keep the earring as a memento of revenge had been nearly squelched not long after he started wearing it when he had a troublesome, though thankfully brief bout with infection when the piercing had gone septic. He told himself that there were more bad memories attached to the earring than good ones and he was well rid of it. With his revenge satisfied and his sister awake, he had *no more* need for it.

But-- Manx had told him that Aya-chan had actually kept a grip of its mate the whole time she was shuffled between Schreient and Schwartz. That Sakura-chan now wore the earring in his memory, perhaps waiting for their return. If only... If only he had thought to remove it earlier, he might still have it among his belongings to remember *them* by. Instead, Schuldich had the earring. Should he feel bad about that? If-- he had not been wearing the earring, wouldn't-- wouldn't the German have taken him as he did threaten to do.

Aya could feel his heart start racing again, the fear and the tension suddenly returning like a crushing weight. He forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. Clearing his mind of the thoughts that plagued him over what had happened. He unconsciously reached up to touch the unadorned earlobe and he again jerked the hand away, cursing himself for dwelling on the loss.

/I *don't* need it anymore!/ He wasn't even sure if he wanted it back. Not after Schuldich removed it and made sure he was watching as he lovingly sucked it before his eyes. Did he really want it back? The very image of that slender piece of jewellery was-- fouled. Just as he felt soiled for what was done-- to him.

Aya chewed on his lower lip as tears threatened to escape his eyes. Yes, he wanted it back. He could not leave it with the German. Schuldich would hang it over his head as a constant reminder of the horrific night. He had to get it back, but not to wear ever again. It served no more purpose that way. He only wanted it back to keep and move on. Remembering only it's significance to his sister and that young girl they had left behind in Tokyo. *Not* Schuldich. Not anything that had to do with the night. He would get it back and he *would not* let the German soil that memory. He-- he--

The memories slammed into him again, making him sag against the side of the trailer. He remembered his utter helplessness to take any action... the pain and humiliation... the betrayal he had felt to see Youji-- to have him-- Aya's hand reached for his earlobe again. Angry with the unconscious action he pinched it hard, the brief pain bringing him back to his surroundings and away from the memory of the dark warehouse loft.

/You will not cry. You *will not* cry. Tears are useless. They only make you look weak. Ken and Omi-- it frightened them to see you so-- so weak and needy. And it only amused-- it amused *him* most of all./ Aya chewed on his lower lip breathing deeply to force himself to calm down again. /Tears were useless... Schuldich didn't care. Not even Youji cared.

/Youji.../

Try as he might, Aya couldn't suppress the shiver which ran through him at the memory the name evoked. He had to hand it to Schuldich for the well executed assault. He had been *totally* caught off guard. Youji *was* the last person he would have expected to attack him, given the close friendship they shared. An image of Youji's strangely dead but rage filled eyes came to him again. Aya leaned his back against the trailer, trying desperately to throw off the memory's hold over him. /It's *not* his fault. Schuldich has shown this power before with me, and most recently with Sakura Tomoe./

A small smile quirked on Aya lips as the image of a face so much like his sister's appeared in his mind. But the smile disappeared just as quickly as his thoughts of the girl darkened. At their last meeting, he had told her that he would explain 'things' to her once it was all over, but he never did. Instead departing Tokyo with Weiß, not even returning to let his sister see him again after she woke up.

She had tried to get close to him, but he wouldn't let her. Sakura-chan had an innocence about her that he did not want to stain with his own guilt, anymore than he wanted to befoul his sister's purity with his presence. Not for the first time did he wish that Sakura-chan had taken the hint on that fateful mission when she accidentally found out what he did 'on the side', and removed herself from his affairs. But she didn't leave, and eventually fell prey to Schuldich's manipulation. Aya couldn't begin to describe how shocked he was to see her step between him and the leaders of the SS on that chaotic airstrip. Then, to see Schuldich wielding his power over her... He made her brandish a gun at him. Despite her obvious distress and unwillingness to harm him, her aim was still sure and true. To be fair, Sakura-chan couldn't be expected to resist Schuldich's powers when she did not have the basic training demanded of all Kritiker agents. Unlike-- Youji...

/It's not his fault./ Aya reminded himself fiercely. /Something's been bothering him, you've known that for sometime now. Schuldich just-- slipped past his defences. He's done this with *you* before.

/It's not Youji's fault./

It hurt to remember how betrayed he had felt when Youji forced his way into him. 'What did I do to make you hate me?' That question kept returning to him. Even now when he knew Youji had been under Schuldich's control during the rape, the question still remind, if to a lesser degree. Aya had always thought their friendship to be strong, even through the trying days when Youji was trying to remind Neu of her past as Asuka and ignored his concern for his kidnapped sister. But he must have been wrong, since obviously some spark of hate must have existed for Schuldich to have magnified it enough to have it manifest in the brutal rape.

Just a little seed of an emotion was all Schuldich need, as he had proven in that time long past when Schuldich first invaded his dreams. Lying in a hospital in Tokyo, alone and hurt having just failed in his first Kritker mission and lost his team... Aya could remember awakening to Erika-- Manx's critical scrutiny, to have her call him a failure to his face. He had felt worthless then, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the blankets and hide from her accusatory expression.

It was just a fleeting thought. That was all he had of the idea that the world might be better off without him. Aya would swear that he didn't dwell on it for very long. He had dismissed it, reminding himself that he still had his desires for revenge and that he still had Aya-chan to take care of. Schuldich slipped into his dreams shortly after Manx had left him to sleep. The German had been all insinuation then, and dripping with disturbing sexuality. Worming his way past his rudimentary mental defences, throwing twisted memories at him of his sister and his late team-mates, and giving him no peace in his sleep.

He had been fortunate Manx decided to check on him after his assignment to the Tsushima Training Centre. He supposed she might have been uneasy over his apparent overnight change of personality from being somewhat easily readable, to becoming tightly closed and withdrawn. She was the one who had caught him and shaken him out of Schuldich's control before he managed to kill himself with Shion's sword in the privacy of his own quarters.

He had no memories of the events leading up to his attempt at suicide. He didn't remember when he had picked up the sword, or even the pain of slicing open the vein of his left arm. The only thing Aya could recall was Manx straddling his recumbent form as she desperately held his sword arm pinned to the floor. It took him a moment longer to realise that the blood generously splattered over their clothes and the surroundings belonged to him. Then he blacked out from blood loss. Manx had been decidedly gentler in speaking to him when he awakened in the hospital the second time, embarrassed and confused over what had happened to him.

> "It's not your fault, and we can make sure it never happens again."

She had assured him before putting him through a hellish three days of training. Not to mention making him see a psychiatrist for the week following that. But at least Schuldich lost control over him. Remaining at best, a fleeting irritant that he could easily brush off. At worse, a nightmare he could still tear himself awake from. The German hardly bothered after that, and apparently lost interest in trying to torment him. That is, until he joined Weiß.

"It's not Youji's fault he lost control." Aya reminded himself firmly as he pushed himself away from the trailer. "Birman's here to train us and make sure it won't ever happen again."

Still, he knew some part of Youji resented him. It made him consider that there must have something he said or had done wrong. Something horrible enough that friendship could not make Youji forgive him for having done. But for the life of him, Aya couldn't figured out what it was. An image of his friend's enraged expression filled his vision again, making Aya feel so cold that he folded his arms tightly in front of him. /I'm sorry, Youji. What did I do wrong to have made you so angry with me?/

He was shaken from his thoughts by the faint sounds of a chair sliding back, bringing his attention back to the American. Aya pushed aside all other thoughts to gaze expectantly at the approaching man. Without looking around, he could sense that there was a moment of true quiet around them now. The streets were almost empty and there appeared to be few if any witnesses in close range. Aya knew that he was hardly in any shape to face an all out attack. Still, he wasn't worried. If necessary, he could painfully hold his own until Birman returned, but he seriously doubted he was in any danger.

From their encounters, he knew Crawford to be a purposeful man who did not believe in wasting any effort when there was little or nothing to gain from it. If he was to be honest about it, Weiß were fortunate that Takatori Reiji had chosen to dismiss the services of Schwartz when they had brought the battle to him, or they might not have so easily killed the man. Unlike the German, the American was not one to play games, he was direct and to the point. If Crawford intended to attack him, Aya had little doubt that he'd already be fighting for his life with what little adequate instruments he currently had at his disposal.

Not by a flicker of expression did either give any indication that they knew each other as they stood facing each other in awkward silence. Outside of missions, there had never been any reason or opportunity to interact. They had last clashed as enemies, but with nothing to gain on either side at this moment, there was little purpose for them to step into their usual roles of adversaries. So what now?

Crawford finally broke the silence for them. "I-- would like a small arrangement."

"Do you have any preference or style?"

"Ikebana?"

"Any vase preference?" Aya wondered if there was a slight challenge in the American's eyes with the question. As if he was seeking an answer to a query; perhaps if Aya had learned more than sword work under Shion's tutelage. Whatever the intention, it seemed a harmless enough revelation to make. "There are different styles, Nageire, Moribana, Jiyuka ..." Seeing no recognition in Crawford's eyes, he backtracked to the older styles. "er-- Rikka is used more for temples, maybe Shoka--?"

"F--freestyle will do."

"If you wish, I can give you a stand to suit the flowers you want for the arrangement." He tried to hide a slight disappointment in the man's choice of a modern style. Despite his earlier resistance to Shion's guidance in using floral arrangements as an outlet to his emotions, Aya had to admit that he did come to like immersing himself in the creative process. Since the majority of their clientele were young girls, he didn't have much opportunity to indulge in the art. "Any particular preference?"

"Have you any hyacinths?"

Aya frowned as he indicated the appropriate display and watched curiously as Crawford browsed through the selection. "The current trend is for buds or half blossoms, most of my hyacinths are in full bloom though. But if that's your preferenc-- " He did not let his surprise reach his eyes when the American turned back and offered him a stem of purple hyacinths.

"Actually, I have another flower in mind for the arrangement." Crawford locked eyes with him and deliberately dropped his mask. "Th--they say a florist can create secret messages in their compositions."

"A-- " To see true regret in the American's eyes-- this time, Aya let his surprise show. "A French writer in the Victorian era published a dictionary of the 'Language of Flowers.' I-- I am-- familiar with it." He lifted his hand slowly to accept the stem of purple blossoms.


	3. Chapter 3

Aya leaned against one of the wooden pillars that supported the bedroom loft as he watched Birman setting out the Chinese takeout. He could feel a smile quirk on his lips to hear her humming contentedly in this domestic exercise, reminding him of how like his sister the woman could be when she wasn't on 'duty'. Contrary to her current image though, he knew Birman was a tough and dangerous woman, something he would never say about his sister. It remained one of his strange dichotic impressions of her, this secretary of Persia.

Crawford had, fortunately, already left before Birman returned, Aya wasn't sure how he'd have explained his visit to her. Ironically, the leader of Schwartz had provided him an excuse to push the driving of the van onto the unsuspecting woman. The solution had only struck him when Birman, on her return, asked him why he was looking so thoughtful as he twirled a stem of purple hyacinths between his fingers. Aya had immediately pondered aloud to her, over creating an Ikebana arrangement with the purple hyacinth as a primary flower, which he had never attempted before. The statement had intrigued Birman as well, so she did not feel it strange to be handed the keys to the van while Aya retreated to the back of the trailer to look over the materials he had.

In truth, he did not spare much thought to the Ikebana arrangement. Instead, he spent the time staring at the stem of purple blossoms Crawford had offered to him-- and which he accepted. /Why?/ That question ran though his mind again. /What was Crawford's purpose in offering a token of regret? Did he really mean it?/ And was he so impressed by the remorse he saw in the other's eyes to accept the flower?

Aya was still been pondering these questions well after Birman parked the trailer van in the warehouse. She had been amused to find him sprawled on the trailer's living room couch still silently contemplating the hyacinth with nothing else accomplished. He good-naturedly endured her gentle teasing of being stumped by the challenge. Idly watching her now as she lay out the utensils and plates, he wondered whether he would be comfortable telling her about what had transpired the previous night.

"Birman--"

"Yes?"

Aya almost hissed at himself. His sigh had slipped out before he could retract it. Seeing her look expectantly at him, he decided to ask about a piece of a past that surfaced in his mind after the incident with Schuldich. "Just curious, but did Kritiker ever finish building that trauma centre Manx talked about when she was still Erika?"

"It's up. Why? Did Schuldich--?" Her eyes softened as she rose to her feet and placed a hand on his arm. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Aya blinked at her and wondered if she saw the brief flicker of fear in his eyes at her perceptiveness. "He didn't seize my mind again, Birman. It-- just reminded me of that time. I-- was just asking."

"Kritiker does care about our agents, Aya." The dark-haired woman regarded him carefully. "We have counsellors to handle everything from job stress, which in our organisation sometimes involves survivor guilt; to torture and rape trauma. We can hardly leave our agents to deal with it alone, you know. Especially not the men when we're talking about rape."

"Rape?" He almost squeaked, his mouth feeling suddenly dry.

"A woman can at least approach organisations for Women's Services, and there are help lines at rape crisis centres that they can call. But few of these places are equipped to handle a male caller. Male rape is probably more prevalent in society than we care to acknowledge." Birman huffed in annoyance. "Just as a woman might find it difficult to admit or report a rape, it must be even more intimidating for a man because of societal perceptions."

"Oh."

"We have more male agents than we do female... Lets just say our internal statistics are more skewed towards assisting the men because of that."

"Oh." Aya really didn't know what else to say about her statement.

"Aya, did something happen to-- the team?" Birman asked him carefully. She gave him that opening. Not pushing or demanding. Letting him decide if he felt comfortable enough to confide in her.

"Birman--" He fought the tears his eyes was threatening to shed at her gentle understanding, reminding him again of why he had ultimately decided to follow her into the Koneko no Sumu Ie in Tokyo so many years ago. Tired of being alone again since his term with the Crashers unit was over, he had not accepted her offer then with revenge in mind, but for the team she proposed that he join. (Though he did have second thoughts about it, when Ken punched him across the room on seeing him in the shop.) She was offering him a chance to open up, but he-- didn't feel ready to talk about it with anyone just yet. At least, not before he had a chance to talk to Youji.

"Thank you, but there are things that-- need to be discussed amongst us first."

"Please understand, Aya, no one should feel shame in it." She told him softly and gave him a gentle squeeze on his arm before turning her attention back to laying out the table.

He looked away from her to twirl the stem of purple hyacinths between his fingers, comforted by the assurance of her support and understanding. However, the long cluster of flowers he held quickly brought him back to his earlier train of thought and questions flooded his mind again. Did the Schwartz leader offer it in assurance? Why did he care? With his precognitive abilities, he must have foreseen what Schuldich would do and allowed it to happen. So why try and offer an apology-- after the fact?

/Because there is nothing else to be done about it but regret and offer a promise that he would not let it happen again?/ Aya's fingers tightened on the stem of the flower, bruising it slightly with his indelicate grip.

He thought again of the Ikebana arrangement the American had bought from him. Crawford seemed deliberate in his choice of the primary flower. And if he was certain who it was intended for... what did it tell him about Crawford's sincerity?

*~*~*~*~*

Crawford entered the apartment that was Schwartz's current abode to hear cursing coming from the kitchen.

"Ooow! Nahgi, yew don' 'ave tah be so rough."

"Well, unless you want it to heal crooked, you'll stop getting in my way and let me finish." The boy smirked at him heartlessly.

The American managed to stifle his laugh before Schuldich could notice his presence. He was glad that Nagi put aside his disdain enough to save the man's life, but apparently the boy chose not to interfere *before* the German had received some damage. Crawford kept his mental shields tight as he regarded them. No one could fault Nagi's attentiveness in treating the injury, but he was not being particularly sympathetic towards Schuldich and it showed in his rather clumsy efforts in resetting his broken nose.

"Oooooww! Nahgi!" Schuldich wailed again, then noticing Crawford standing at the kitchen door, tried to garner some help from their leader. "Cwofowd, ged him tah stob f$%kin' aroun'."

"I *am* trying to help," Nagi protested innocently. "If he'd only stop fidgeting--"

"Do it properly, Nagi." Crawford dropped a wink at him that Schuldich couldn't see as he strode in to drop the arrangement Fujimiya had made for him in the German's lap.

"Whad's dis for?" Schuldich eyed the triangular looking arrangement of yellow carnations, gypsophia, and pothos suspiciously. He pulled at the dry brown leaves of the pothos that appeared to artfully dance around the blossoms. "Yew god cheaded, dese are supposed tah be fresh. Nod halv dead."

"Actually, it's exactly how I wanted it. Just something I thought I'd pick up for you to go with this." He poked Schuldich's nose deliberately, eliciting another cry of pain from the harried man.

"Ooowww!" Schuldich's hands flew over his much-abused nose and turned away from them. His curses muffled.

Nagi looked up at Crawford with a question in his eyes as they waited for the German to stop cursing. He shook his head gently and placed a hand on Nagi's shoulder, giving the boy a gentle squeeze. "Why don't you run off and take Toto to a movie? I'll take care of him."

"It's-- very nicely done, but-- Yellow carnations?" Nagi arched an eyebrow at him.

Crawford shrugged. "Wanted Peonies as well, but the florist argued against adding them. He said that the colours he had available clashed with the yellow."

"This, from someone who wears an ugly ora--"

"He has a better eye for flowers." Crawford cut him off meaningfully with another squeeze to his shoulder as he guided Nagi towards the kitchen door. "He is a professional and it shows that took some convincing on my part for him to agree to my request for the leaves."

Nagi surreptitiously glanced back at the still cursing German before he looked up at Crawford. "I didn't know you were familiar with that text."

"You forgot who bought you the book to share with Toto. Now shoo!" Crawford pushed the boy out the door and watched him hurry off with a light step. /One of these days, you will need to open up and talk about it, Nagi. Fujimiya has Weiß. I hope you'll eventually understand that you can depend on me./

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI Flower meanings that I've used in this story:
> 
> Camellia = Gratitude
> 
> Purple Hyacinth = Sorrow
> 
> Yellow Carnation = Disdain
> 
> Peony = Anger
> 
> Dead leaves = Sadness, sorrow


End file.
